


patience perforce and willful choler meeting

by amitye



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Cuddling & Snuggling, Enemies to Lovers, Existential Crisis, Eye Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, These children need therapy, Toxic Masculinity, growing up in Verona sucks, set like 4 years before the play and whether canon compliant or not is your call
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22016362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amitye/pseuds/amitye
Summary: A street brawl gone wrong forces Tybalt and Benvolio to face their differences and lack of thereof
Relationships: (LaVolio), Benvolio Montague/Tybalt, Mercutio & Benvolio Montague & Romeo Montague, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52
Collections: Romeo & Juliet / Romeo et Juliette Fanfic Exchange 2019





	patience perforce and willful choler meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SKwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKwriter/gifts).



> Happy 2020 sweetie, and thank you for giving me a chance to write this wonderful rarepair!

"I mean, your parents have always seemed reasonable enough people to me. We could just ask if you can come to have dinner with us after the Vesper mass, instead of hiding you like bandits."  
Benvolio suggested, with moderate hope of success, eyeing warily his little cousin as he dressed Mercutio up in a blue cape and ridiculously wide brimmed hat so he'd blend in into the group of Montagues. Of course, this was met with the usual " You're spoiling the mystery, Benny!" and "You're just incapable of understanding fun, Volio."  
He sighed, wondering when Romeo, seemingly so shy and innocent, had lately grown into such an annoyance. "Well, hurry up. There's Capulets staring."

He did feel a little better about it when a girl from the Capulet retinue, wandering dangerously close, took off the hood of her heavy winter cloak revealing her ruby-red hair and blew him a kiss on her fingertips. Benvolio smiled at her and tried to bow as discreetly as possible, but laughter still erupted behind him. He mouthed a "sorry" in her direction - he would have tried to suggest a meeting place for tomorrow, but he would take a while to figure out a place he could easily make her understand wordlessly, Romeo and Mercutio would tease him to death and a group of Capulet boys had started to stare quite pointedly.  
So he just blew his own kiss at her - Mercutio was on the verge of rolling on the floor with hysterical laughter - and went back to his supposed friends again, hoping they had decided to get moving. He found that they had not only sat down, but Romeo had taken out his poetry booklet and was scribbling something in it with a charcoal stick - which meant he could not for the life of him read anything on the page and he was starting to develop a certain anxiety Romeo had been inspired to write about Benvolio's romantic adventures, for lack of his own.

"Can we go?" He asked again, at the end of his patience. Mercutio snickered, but did get on his feet. "Don't you have someone else to blow kisses to?"  
"I seem to remember you're the one who dared me to talk to her. Were you hoping she'd slap me and never talk to me again?"  
Romeo giggled, looking up from his notebook. "It's just… you're not the one we expected to be a dashing ladykiller, Ben."  
Benvolio rolled his eyes. "I'm not a dashing lady killer. I just went to her and asked her to go on a walk and we kissed. If she likes it we will again. Very simple and honest. You should try sometimes, instead of just daydreaming about it, won't you?"  
Romeo smacked him and ran.

"About time." Benvolio muttered, following him, dragging Mercutio for good measure. They were halfway through the square when the group of Capulet boys stood before them, arms crossed and grinning. Tybalt was two steps before the others, in his garish blood-red doublet and raven hair streaming down his back, probably thinking he looked like a cursed knight from a fairytale as opposed to an unsufferable prick. Mercutio smiled and waved. Benvolio glared him down.  
"Gentlemen." He muttered, half heartedly, steering to walk around the pack. He took Romeo's hand and led him to walk as far as possible from the Capulets, but Tybalt was quicker and snatched the book from Romeo's hands. "Not so fast, snotty puppy. What are you writing here? You've been eavesdropping on us the whole Mass."

"He's twelve. Let him be." Benvolio said, but Tybalt only snickered and started flitting through the pages. Romeo yanked his hand away and ran at Tybalt, trying to grab the book from his hands. "Why are you doing this? I have nothing against you!"  
Tybalt laughed and pushed him and he tumbled on the ground in a rainfall of ripped pages. He sat up with tears in his eyes, but when Mercutio helped him up he had to hold him back from going again. Tybalt was still smiling, showing no intention to leave. Benvolio sighed and drew his sword, backing away slowly from the Capulets, as he had been taught to do with rabid dogs.

"We are only passing through and have no wish to bother you. Surely you have to go home as well. Why don't we go separate ways?"  
The Capulets didn't move - a couple giggled. Tybalt whispered something in the ear of the boy next to him. Then he leaped forward, crossing his rapier against Benvolio's. He heard Romeo gasp and Mercutio swear under his breath - his arm trembled and he almost lost his grip.  
"Tybalt, we are right in front of the church and everyone can see us." He explained, with little hope that would mean much to him.

"You came between us and now you don't want to fight? Not smart, Montague." Tybalt chided him, freeing his sword and starting to point it towards his neck. Benvolio deflected it, taking a step back, but it was getting clearer he could not get out of this honorably. He took a deep breath.  
"Tybalt, neither of us has any quarrel with you."  
Tybalt's smile withered and died. "You keep saying that. Lying knowing you're lying."

He struck again, this time leaving a gash on his arm before he could parry. Benvolio hissed, but didn't move. The square was starting to feel so full - some of his cousins had come back attracted by the ruckus and the Capulet boys seemed to sprout like mushrooms and he was starting to feel a bit lightheaded.  
"You're making up reasons as you go. You're fighting with yourself. Leave us in peace."

"You keep talking about peace. That's very sweet, but if I was fighting with myself, why do you have a sword out?" Tybalt circled him, forcing him to spin to follow him, swords still crossed. "You just need to be better than everyone else, don't you? You don't fight me now in front of everyone, but you provoke me and dishonor our Capulet girls and then say I'm the one who wants to fight? That's very convenient. Very sweet."  
Tybalt was fuming now, attacking so fast he could barely keep his pace. "Dishonor's just another big word you use without understanding it." He spat out. "Capulet too. She's an old nurse's daughter. Capulet! Like she needs that burden."

He meant no one with any wit - which the redhead girl had alright, from what he could see just from gestures and kisses - would want to have anything to do with Montagues and Capulets if they weren't absolutely forced, but Tybalt had to take it as an insult to his house, since it only made him angrier. He was infuriatingly good - he could barely parry, let alone strike him, which he didn't want to do at all, but it would make this feel a little less pointless, wouldn't it? He hadn't wanted this. He screamed and put all his force in one last blow, hoping if he couldn't get past Tybalt's blade he could knock him down and go away -

He didn't find steel. Something wrong and sick. The point of his rapier digging in flash, a wave of blood splashed Benvolio's face, blinding him for a second.  
Tybalt staggered, a hand pressed on his eye, blood seeing through his fingers. A sharp red line ran down his cheek. Benvolio wanted to run forward and hold him up, but something nailed his feet to the pavement - a familiar feeling, the smell of blood, maybe, blood on the grass and spilled liquor, the sound of rapiers crossing taking over the lutes-

He blinked. Tybalt collapsed on the ground, whimpering. Mercutio whispered "Let's go, Romeo" somewhere behind him and he was grateful, so grateful. Why should Mercutio or anyone bother to shield him? Romeo shouldn't see what he'd done - what had he done? God, people died of dueling scratches in the wrong places, lost limbs and eyes - how could he be so stupid? Nausea erupted in his stomach and he stopped forward, trying to help, but someone slapped him. Tybalt had gone quiet. Two boys lifted him up and ran and he heard Mercutio's voice again - strangely soothing and soft.

He followed him home without daring to look into his eyes, much less Romeo's, flinching at everyone who passed too close as if they were city guards about to fling him into a dungeon - and wouldn't he deserve that? He was a rascal and a duelist and- he blinked. Not a murderer yet. No one was a murderer at fourteen, even in Verona.  
At some point Mercutio took his hand and said something, but he couldn't quite make it out. Were they meant to run? He didn't think he could. His stomach hurt like he had been held down and kicked by the whole band of Capulets, his head was pounding.  
By the time they reached the house he was falling apart so badly Mercutio held him back on the doorway while Romeo went to explain everything to his parents. It was good. He felt about to cry and he couldn't breathe normally, even though they hadn't been running really, and he was all stained in blood, sticky, sticky…

He clamped a hand over his mouth, trying not to throw up. He needed to calm down, he was unpresentable, shameful - he looked at Romeo talking to his mother, explaining things so calmly even with tears still on his face, the way she hugged him and the worried look on her face and he felt he would have either fallen over or ran off into the street and never come back if Mercutio wasn't holding him.

Aunt Clarissa turned to look at him.  
Benvolio hugged himself nervously, as if that could hide the blood dripping down his shirt.  
"And you're alright, Ben? You look like you've just seen a ghost. Do you need me to patch you up?"  
He felt the weight in chest break in a thousand jagged pieces. "No, Madam" he could barely gasp out "it's not my blood."

He bowed his head and all but ran out in the hallway and rushed up the stairs, just longing for a moment of silence. He stumbled and almost fell down the stairs when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He restrained himself and mumbled a "sorry", forcing himself to look at least in the general direction of his uncle's face.  
"Your first blood, huh?"

For some reason he didn't seem angry - he had an half-smile on his face and his hand was still on his shoulder. Benvolio stared at him blankly, unable to figure out why. "It's not my blood." He repeated, ashamed of the note of hysteria creeping in his voice. Uncle Tiziano laughed, making him flinch.  
"No, that's not what I mean. You spilled your first blood. You're a young man now."  
He forced a small smile, standing in front of him feeling more sticky and sullied than before, but he couldn't bear to answer anything. He supposed it was not false, but…

"This little half-Capulet boy… did he ask you for vengeance? For his father?"  
Benvolio clutched at his doublet trying to control the trembling of his hands. He almost wanted to say yes - God knows what was on Tybalt's mind anytime and he'd feel a lot less childish for sure - but something (the part of him that didn't remember what happened _that night_ and didn't want to know, that knew he couldn't stop _feeling_ if he knew, that pain and anger would turn to hate and he would never be himself again-) to rebelled against the thought.  
"It was all for very stupid, childish reasons" he squeaked. "I'm ashamed I let him provoke me."

Uncle Tiziano looked him over from his head to his feet, dubious. "You just can't believe in yourself. Why?" Benvolio swallowed down tears and smiled apologetically. "You had a fair fight, you won, you don't have a body on your hands and Romeo told me you were just defending him. Can't I trust you would do it again?"

He didn't dare answering that - he didn't know how. He looked down, realizing with horror tears were starting to drip down his face, over the sweat and dried blood. He couldn't stand it anymore and ran, burning with shame, locking his bedroom door behind him before he fell on the floor gasping. He wiped the blood from his face, but didn't see the point in taking his shirt off - if they came looking for him then it was easier to just let them recognize the murderer right away without further disturbance to anyone. He felt as exhausted as if he'd been ran over by a train of horses, but he didn't want to sit on the bed bloody and filthy, so he wrapped himself in a blanket and slid on the floor.  
Tybalt's face kept flashing under his eyelids - hateful, grinning, bloodsoaked, twisted with pain, licking his lips with delight - that little cut on Benvolio's arm hadn't been his first blood for sure. Twelve year old Tybalt at the Lammas'eve ball, in the palace gardens, just as bloodsoaked and hateful, but with tears streaming down his face and his little knife in his little shaking fist -

He sprung on his knees and screamed for what seemed an eternity, a hand pressed on his mouth so no one would hear. That was stupid, stupid, stupid. That was a funny trick of his mind - twelve year old Tybalt couldn't look much different than fourteen year old Tybalt, even if he felt like they'd both grown five year instead of two since. He did know his father had died _that night_ too, because he always tried to know everything, but there had been a dozen dead and more involved in the fighting, anyone could have killed him, for what he knew- his memories of _that night_ were so scrambled and unreliable.

Romeo running off with Mercutio as he sat with the older cousins and their wine bottles and brothel talk, falling-down-drunk trying to pretend he understood anything. His mother's laughter as she led him to sleep it off under a tree and how he had felt so mocked and insulted because he didn't know it was the last time he'd ever see her. Lute music, steel music. Blue, red.  
Uncle Tiziano sitting him down in the kitchen in the gray dawn light with a long, tear-choked explanation that seemed to boil down to how generation after generation loss was an unavoidable fact of life as long as Capulet bloodthirst endured, he didn't need to worry about anything because he would always have a place in his home for the son of the last little brother he had to bury, and they would someday have _vengeance_ .

That had terrified him so much that if he had remembered anything of who killed whom he would have forgotten it straightaway. But did it matter at all? Capulet was Capulet and Montague was Montague and vengeance couldn't tell a face from another and hate was just a fact of life, bursting as easily over broken families or disputed lands or disputed lovers or children's pranks, generation after generation after generation.  
Maybe Tybalt was the wiser one , to just live by that with some enthusiasm instead of resignation and bitterness. Maybe they were all there just to hate each other and he did know - whoever had killed whom - that it wasn't going to stop when they were older and wiser, when they had wives and children, even when they were wizened old men who could only make others fight for them. Why fight it anymore?

The door opened behind him. He flinched and whimpered under his breath as Romeo sat by his side and laid his head on his shoulder.  
"We're almost done with dinner. Don't you want to come down at all?"

He shook his head silently. He raised his hand to stroke Romeo's hair, even though it was still trembling - he wouldn't care, he was such a sweet boy he never judged anyone. He didn't know why he had trouble replying to his uncle, of course he would do anything to protect him all over again. But what good would that do in the end? He would still have to see the things that didn't hurt him, and he was only two years younger. Did that mean there were only two years left until he couldn't escape this anymore, or would believing in God and fairy tales the way Benvolio never had buy him a few more months of innocence? He had probably undone whatever effect that had with what he had made him witness. He tried to give him a reassuring smile, so at least he wouldn't have to witness him falling apart too, but it only made things worse. He turned away and buried his face in his hands, choking back sobs.

"Maybe I should just call Mercutio…" Romeo whispered. The hurt in his voice broke his heart.  
"No-no, there's no need..." He mumbled, pulling him closer, but Romeo was already on his feet.  
"I'll just call him so we're all together."  
Benvolio could just nod, burning with shame.

Mercutio came up and stared at him with disapproval in a way that - a slightly comforting thought - he must have learned from him.  
"Why are you still like this?"  
Benvolio rubbed his eyes and tried to explain his reasoning of what if Tybalt died and someone came to look for him.  
"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."  
He shrugged and took his shirt off. He didn't really expect him to understand any of this. He, at least, surely would never have to.

Mercutio looked at him for a while, them, exasperated, took his hand and pulled him up. Benvolio half-sunk in his arms, still sniffling embarrassingly. Mercutio rolled his eyes, but hugged him back. "Maybe we should all sleep together tonight. Just to make sure you don't spend it all sobbing hugging your pillow."

Benvolio nodded, overwhelmed with gratitude. It didn't work much, but when they were all hugging under the blanket, Romeo curled up against him like a kitten and Mercutio with his hands in both their hair, that satisfied little smile still on his sleeping face, it was hard not to appreciate it all the same.

*

When he woke up the sun was embarrassingly high in the sky and his bed was empty. Mercutio - all dressed up to his boots and jerkin - laid on the floor with his head on Romeo's lap - still in his nightshirt and intently braiding dainty pink flowers in Mercutio's hair.  
"Good morning, princesses." He greeted them, rubbing his eyes. A part of him was way too pleased they hadn't gone away in the night.

Romeo dropped the flowers and ran to hug him. "Morning, Ben! Has Queen Mab lain with you tonight?"  
Benvolio looked over at Mercutio, mussing his cousin's hair. "I assume this is a new one?"  
Mercutio smiled innocently. "Aye, and he's already misusing it."  
"It means if you had nightmares." Romeo explained, giggling.  
"Ro-meowww, you little clown, what have I told you?! Queen Mab is a fickle mistress and gives dreams bad and good alike!"

Benvolio sighed and laid his head on Romeo's shoulder. "Yes, _that_ is why it's stupid"  
Mercutio stuck out his tongue at him.  
"Romeo, you're always very sweet. No, I slept well tonight, I calmed down and reflected on the situation. I can start behaving like a reasonable person and stop forcing you to witness this sort of embarrassing scenes."  
"But you're still a prick." Mercutio added helpfully.  
"Exactly. And to start a new series of kind, normal, reasonable actions you two will act like I'm strangling your puppies about, I've decided to apologize to Tybalt."  
He smiled resignedly as the two boys jumped where they sat and yelled a choral "No!"

"He should apologize to you, he started it." Romeo protested, as Mercutio stood up and paced the room, hands thrown dramatically in his flower-strewn golden curls. "Volio, sweet sweet sweet Volio, if you wanted to write a long love letter which would, I presume, take your not-so-poetic self many hours of effort, pick the fanciest orchids and purest lilies of your own fair hands, tie it with a silk ribbon and throw that to the swine with the proverbial pearls, that would be a better use of your _good will_ than bothering to apologize to Tybalt Capulet!"

Benvolio pouted. "I'm not very optimistic about the outcome either, but I do feel guilty, and someone has to make a first step to reconcile, isn't that so?"  
"If the "outcome" of the entire Capulet family having a go at stabbing you is alright with you."  
He sighed. "No, I don't think… Listen. I've just been up all night thinking about it and the more I think, the more I'm sure this is what I have to do. I'm not going to sneak in the Capulet's house at night, obviously, but I could send a letter, or wait until he's better and talk to him after church. I know I'm a grown man now, and I owe some things to my uncle I can't just run away from, but for as long as it's possible to keep it to a reasonable level... you two know how I really am. Fighting like this, in front of everyone, hurting people, pulling my sword out for just a little prank between children - that's just not me, and I don't think I could demean myself in asking for forgiveness when this isn't me in the first place."

Mercutio turned to Romeo with a resigned look in his eyes. "This is what you kids do at night when I'm not around, don't you? Lie awake and ponder?"  
Romeo bit his lip. "I thought you liked us as we are?"  
"Aye, against my better judgement."  
"Because your better judgement is such a stronghold and a pain to go against..."  
"Romeo!" Benvolio whined - he knew better than to expect focus on the subject from Mercutio in the first place.

"Sorry" Romeo mumbled, looking down, while Mercutio, not at all daunted, went on. "By the way, I really shouldn't enable you on this humiliating stunt, but in case you have the idea to risk it and get yourself killed for nothing, I want to inform you Tybalt's not at the Capulets' at all."  
Benvolio groaned. "What now, how do you know?"  
"I've told you a thousand times. Their garden wall is a complete joke for anyone endowed with two hands and two feet and there's a pomegranate tree right under his window. It's not my fault if you refuse to do anything fun."  
"Wait, wait, wait." He stopped him in his tracks. "You've been giving me grief about this plan since I started and now you tell me you're the one who looked for him first?"

Mercutio shrugged. "I wasn't there to ask for forgiveness. Anyway, I saw he wasn't in his room so I had a moment of fear maybe the kitten was already underground-" he put an arm around Romeo's shoulder when he whimpered at the word. Benvolio did his best to cringe silently "- so I knocked on the little girl's door, that's right beside his, you know, to ask where he was and she told me they took him to Friar Lawrence. She threw a book at me first tough, big Latin one, right in the face, which I can't blame her for at all since I broke into her house at night, but you cannot say I do not risk and suffer for you."  
Romeo giggled, and Mercutio scowled at him. Benvolio tried to go back to the middle of that impressive outpour of words. " Wait, they sent him off to the church all alone? That's... cold even for them."

If he was hurt - if he had hurt him - so badly he needed an experienced healer he didn't see why they couldn't pay someone to come to their house. Though - and for a petty, cruel moment he wished he was alone with Mercutio so he could say it and not give Romeo strange ideas about his own feelings - maybe now he was hurt and distressed he didn't feel much more at home in his uncle's house than in the back room of the church.

"Well, that's one more reason why I should go. Since it's not much risk-"  
"We'll come with you!" Romeo piped in. It's going to be easier if we stick together."  
Benvolio admittedly liked the idea of not facing it alone, but he wasn't sure. " Alright" he said "I suppose it might be better to show we're sorry as a family."  
Romeo lit up and Mercutio shrugged. "And I suppose I'm going to have to support this bad idea. He'll surely be thrilled for our company."

Benvolio grimaced. "How is apologizing a stupider idea than breaking in the Capulets' house?" He snatched a flower from his hair. "And… stealing from their garden, apparently?"  
Mercutio smiled angelically. "Their heiress did attempt to take my life. I don't think these very dainty flower pots on her balcony befit her very much."  
"Stealing flowers from ten year old girls, then? Very daring. Wonderful peacekeeping."  
"I stole some fruit too, if that makes you feel better. I know you're more practically inclined and wouldn't appreciate flowers as much as this sweet Ro-meow."  
Benvolio rolled his eyes. "Marvelously better, aye."  
"Glad to hear it!" Mercutio sprung up, emptying is bag on the floor. Three pomegranates and a handful of nuts rolled out. "Do not say I don't take care of you kids."

"God forbid." He flinched when Mercutio's knife flashed in front of him as he cut a pomegranate in two. He turned to Romeo and handed him a seed, but when he got close enough he splashed the juice on his face. Romeo pushed him to the floor and started tickling him. Benvolio only looked at them and smiled.  
They were the best, sweetest people he'd ever known, for all of Mercutio's cynicism and Romeo's irritating moments, and they were innocent. In the light, now he was thinking like himself and not letting bitterness overcome him, that thought didn't give him any pain, but the meaning was the same. He would rather die than bring them with him in the dark to face Tybalt and his own sins, and that thought was much more selfishly meant than he wished for it to be.

*

"He's sleeping, and besides the fact he needs to rest, I have to admit I had been quite looking forward to this. The poor child isn't the easiest boy to deal with." Benvolio sighed with relief, since if Tybalt was able to irritate anyone that probably meant he wasn't quite at death's door. Friar Lawrence stared at him intently. "Is he your friend?" Benvolio wanted more than anything else to say yes, but he felt like the Friar had to know enough about his parishioners to tell Montagues and Capulets apart and this was somehow a test. 

"Alas, I'm the one who hurt him. We had a childish fight and it went awfully wrong." He admitted. "I wished to make amends."  
"That is a good sign. Not many boys your age think of this. However you're going to have to wait for the morning - unless you would like to relieve your conscience to the Father above?"

Benvolio shook his head, biting down a remark that it felt a little dishonest when his own father, hopefully above, would laugh himself to tears and buy him candy if he had confessed this particular sin to him. He felt awfully wicked and disappointing about it - and the Friar's unsurprised face made him suspect he had noticed how much he avoided accompanying Romeo to confession - but the thought of opening his heart first to the Friar and then to Tybalt in less than a day made him nauseous.

"But if I could…" he added timidly. "My little cousin likes to come here at night when he needs to calm down. Maybe I should stay here to reflect and… pray..."  
"That would do you some good. Maybe bring you some peace" If the Friar noticed his embarrassment, he didn't feel the need to mock him for it. "You're only children. You shouldn't be fighting this war."  
"We're both fourteen, actually." He couldn't help himself but correcting. "But we really shouldn't, Father. I will pray for peace for all of us."

The Friar only laughed, clapped his shoulder and pointed him to a side altar before leaving. Benvolio was too busy memorizing the door from which he had left to bother thinking about his reaction. He knelt, lit his own votive candle amidst the useless apologies of other sinners and knelt down.  
He had never felt less like there was anyone above to listen than now, but he wanted to wait for the Friar to fall asleep before going looking for Tybalt, and feared he could come back any moment to check he was actually praying and not stealing the altar wine or anything of that kind. He did probably know that he was Mercutio's friend, so he couldn't blame him for expecting it.  
He simply down on the stone floor and took deep breaths, rehearsing what he would say to Tybalt if he managed to find him away. He was debating whether it sounded less like fake to say "we're both good men" or "both honorable men" when another one of the side doors creaked and a small figure came out, looking around suspiciously. Benvolio choked down a scream and scrambled away from the candles into the unlit shadows of the church.

It was Tybalt - it was obvious as soon as he stepped in the light to grab a candle, but he didn't look much like himself. He was shivering just in his breeches and shirt and his hair tied away from his face revealed the long shallow gash he had left from his forehead to the bottom of his cheek - shallow where he could see it, but his eye was covered by a blood-spattered bandage. Benvolio slid his hood over his face and curled up tighter, fighting the urge to cry.  
Tybalt overlooked him as he rushed to the door and out of the church. Benvolio followed him slowly, barely daring to breathe. Should he call the Friar? He probably should, but his conscience wasn't at peace with that - he did have to have a good reason to run off like this in the dead of the night, and the thought of betraying him on the top of everything else made him nauseous, so he just followed quietly.

It was hard to make his way through the square in the dark, although Tybalt didn't seem to have the same problem - he stumbled on a broken cobblestone and his knees thudded against the pavement. Tybalt turned sharply and he flattened against the wall, blending in the shadow. Tybalt turned around and for a moment he truly thought he had not seen him, then he started to run.  
Benvolio swore under his breath and followed him down a maze of alleys, trying his best not to bang against any walls. He tried to call for him to not worry, but either he didn't hear him or his voice only scared him more. Suddenly he halted on his feet and the candle he was carrying fell, plunging them into an even deeper darkness. He leaned against the wall for a moment, throwing his head back, then ran again.  
Benvolio rolled his eyes, ready to follow, but before he could sprint Tybalt's knees gave out and he fell so suddenly Benvolio started and looked around, almost expecting to see someone was aiming a bow at them.

He hesitantly moved closer, then, when Tybalt didn't move, he grabbed his shoulder and gently rolled him on his back. His face was burning hot and wet with blood when he touched him.  
For a moment terror bubbled up his throat at the thought they were going to find him there in the alley with a corpse, but he calmed himself down enough to unlace Tybalt's shirt and put his hand on his chest. He sighed with relief when he felt his heartbeat against his palm, still accelerated from the run. He must have just fainted from the exhaustion - not strange - it was December and he was feverish and worn out and he had to have lost a lot of blood, considering there had been so much on the ground, on his shirt, on Benvolio's face, dripping down his doublet - not helpful.

He scoffed away his scrambled thoughts and draped his cloak over him, wondering when it had become his job to take care of little lost Capulets on top of the rest of his house - though he couldn't complain, since it was all his fault to begin with...  
He blinked. Still not helpful. He pulled Tybalt in his lap, as gently as possible, then slid an arm under his knees and lifted him up, laying his head on his own shoulder. He was so lanky - much easier to carry around than Mercutio and even Romeo, who was still half a child - but the walk through the square back to the church still felt like it took ten years of his life.

Tybalt's eyelid twitched when he laid him down under the candlelit altar, but he didn't wake. Benvolio frowned, holding a candle closer to his face. He wasn't bleeding all that much - he had freaked out more than necessary out there - but it was still pretty gruesome to look at. The clean half of his face was painfully white, his hands ice cold to the burning heat in his face. What had possessed him to act on such a bad idea? He found a cloth by the altar, dipped it in the bowl of holy water and pressed it to his cheek to stop the flow.

He grabbed his arms, trying to rub some heat back into him - why wasn't he calling Friar Lawrence? Tybalt was the only one who would get in trouble about this.  
"Come on, Capulet, don't make me do this. I'm just trying to help." He begged, lightly shaking his shoulder. Tybalt groaned and blinked, but his eyes were unfocused and he didn't move. Benvolio let out a sigh of relief and even tried for an encouraging smile, but in that moment he seemed to take everything in - the hard stone floor, Benvolio squatting over him, his hands around his wrists. His eye went wide with terror and Benvolio barely managed to clamp a hand over his mouth in time. He screamed against his palm and kicked, but the effort had drained most of the fight from him. His whole body went loose and he just laid under him, breathing hard, his glance full of loathing

"Don't scream, please. You're safe here. We're just in church."  
He gingerly let him go and Tybalt sharply turned his face away from him. "What more do you want with me?"  
"Nothing." He shifted the candle to illuminate more of the surroundings. "See? We're back in church. I didn't attack you. You had the idea to run out for no reason at all and you passed out. I had to carry you all the way here. What the hell got into you? What if I hadn't been here?"  
"I wouldn't run if you weren't chasing me! I thought you were-" He fell silent, trembling - was it cold or fear? Who on earth would be scared of him?

"You should have been in bed! You could have gotten yourself killed. You scared me to death!"  
Tybalt struggled in vain a little more, more on principle than with any real hope, then fell still again. "I just wanted to go home. Friar Lawrence said I could go." Tears started to run down his cheek. Benvolio instinctively reached to wipe them away, but restrained himself. It still hurt to see. Obviously nagging was not working.

He bit his lip and gently brushed Tybalt's hair away from his face. "Now, that's not true, obviously. But you'll still get to go home soon. There's no reason to be so childish and put yourself in danger like this."  
"I _could_ go home" he insisted, his voice melting into a barely understandable whimper. "He really said I could and auntie _wanted_ me back, but I'll scare Jule, no one can stand to look at me and… and... are you happy you ruined me?"

Benvolio felt a sting of guilt, but the annoyance over this melodramatic exaggeration more than helped masking. "That's ridiculous. You'll have a little scar. I didn't ruin you." He had no idea what his eye looked like underneath the bandage, so that was a half-lie, but that was the only way with screaming children.  
"You humiliated me. You made me make a scene in front of everyone and then-then-... If I'd won he'd let me in, but he can't stand to look at a-."

To Benvolio's horror, he curled in a ball and broke into sobs, hiding his face in his hands. "No-no. Calm down." He hesitantly rubbed his back, unsurprised when his touch only made him go stiffer. "Who the hell told that to you? That's ridiculous. You'll go home soon."  
Tybalt sniffled. "I want to go now. A-auntie said- I shouldn't stay here alone, I don't want-"  
"Well, you can't go home now and it doesn't look like anyone is coming for you. The only person who's here to take care of you is me."

That had the effect of a bucket of cold water on Tybalt. He pushed himself up on his elbow and wiped away his tears so hard he scratched himself. "And I feel as safe as in my mother's womb, here alone with a Montague who tried to cut me in half!"  
"Sorry, it's not ideal. Still, you're going to let me take you back to your bed, lie down, rest and don't try this stunt again. I'm fourteen years old and I'm not ready to be a killer."  
"Why?" Tybalt practically shrieked, though at least his voice was too hoarse and tired to wake anyone . "What does it change for you? We'll both be soon enough. Why not get it over with?"

Benvolio wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the question - he would for sure if Mercutio had been here. It seemed a lot more unreasonable and melodramatic coming from Tybalt's mouth than his own thoughts, which was convenient in a way. He could easily talk him down from that nonsense and never think of it again. " There's absolutely no reason, Capulet, why we would both be killers soon enough."  
"You're acting like I'm stupid. I'm sick of that." Tybalt snapped. "The sooner, the more glory for you, isn't it? Everyone has to be anyway. Your uncle is, your fath-"  
"No. No. No. We aren't going to talk about this." He shut him up again and Tybalt whimpered and struggled against his hold as if he really still thought he might just up and finish the job. Benvolio forced himself to not hear him.

"Maybe in your family. Not in mine." He lied - if it even counted as such. Capulets were bloodthirsty, everyone in town agreed with that, so Montagues surely had to fight back somehow and he didn't remember enough of _that night_ to say otherwise. "Not at fourteen for sure and glory is the last thing I want. Now, do you want to die? Is that why you're pestering me about this "  
Tybalt looked up at him with pure loathing and shook his head.  
"No? Good. Then don't talk about this ever again and let me take care of you properly. You look about to die on your own without any of this melodramatic nonsense."

He really was pale as a sheet, and he would feel better leaving him down to rest for a while longer, but lying under him seemed to terrify him so much it couldn't be good for him. He reluctantly freed him and Tybalt gasped like he'd been strangling him. Benvolio rolled his eyes, but helped him sit up as gently as possible and placed the wet napkin on his forehead. Tybalt grimaced. "We won't run away from it forever." He insisted, his voice a faint whisper.  
"We? I'm the only one who's trying. You're running right _in_ it for no reason at all. Do you think it will make you happy?" He had meant to spit that out, but instinctively his voice had taken a soft, whispering tone. He couldn't bring himself to be so harsh, when Tybalt was suffering and not fully himself.  
"Hopefully something will." He muttered, avoiding his glance.

"I'm sorry. For hurting you, humiliating you and all the rest." Tybalt pressed his lips together and ignored him. He scooted a little closer and wrapped an arm around his waist. Tybalt went rigid and jerked away from him, then slumped against the pew, dizzy from the sudden movement.  
"Don't touch me!"  
A little blood ran like a tear down his cheek. Benvolio reached out to wipe it, but Tybalt grabbed his hand, twisted it away and dug his nails into his palm, hissing.

Benvolio scowled, but stopped pressing. "You really are a mean kitten" he muttered half heartedly, running his thumb over Tybalt's knuckles. Why wasn't he letting his hand go if he wasn't supposed to touch?  
"Bloody hell. Mercutio got you on that nonsense too? Some wit to take for example."  
His voice was low, half broken. Benvolio gave him a little smile, though he felt more inclined to weep. "No, it just came out. It's stupid anyway. Kittens like sleeping all alone in dark nooks."  
His dark hair was a tangled mess and his hand felt hard and bony into his own - he looked more like a starving wolf pup kicked off his pack than a cat, but that wouldn't help his case at all.

"I don't und- Have you come all this way to mock me?"  
His good eye was blank with confusion. Benvolio wanted to pull him into a hug for a wild moment before his sense kicked in.  
"I've come all this way to say sorry." He definitely felt the prick of tears now, though he didn't feel so bad that if he started he would be unable to stop or start sobbing like a child. Would it help Tybalt believe him if he let them out? Or would he take them for weakness and throw him on the floor to try and strangle him?

Never one to risk, he swallowed them down and embraced Tybalt again. This time he didn't have the strength to resist and just glared and sighed while Benvolio adjusted his hold on him and stood up. He led him to his room with an arm around his waist, hoping that would cause less of a protest than trying to carry him, even if he was still so stiff he felt he might slip away at any moment and the uncomfortable closeness flustered him.  
"Why?" Tybalt mumbled in his ear. Benvolio raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. He brought him back to his room, laid him down on the unmade bed and touched his forehead to feel how bad the fever was - he definitely sounded delirious - but Tybalt slapped his hand away. "Why?" He repeated, this time sounding very vigorously angry and with a dramatic eye roll.

"Why what now?"  
"Why are you here? What are you saying sorry for?"  
Benvolio sighed. He supposed he couldn't expect a Capulet boy to know him. That wasn't an offense to him personally. "I don't like hurting people, whether you believe it or not. Are you cold?"  
He turned away, not gracing him with an answer, but he was shivering, even under the blanket and curled tightly in Benvolio's cloak - it was already strange enough he hadn't dramatically thrown away this Montague handout as soon as he could. If it was Romeo, he'd climb in bed with him and hug him, but just the thought turned him slightly red and he simply poured him some water from the pitcher on the nightstand and took his hands in his own, rubbing them gently to warm them - he had no idea in the whole vast world as to why, but Tybalt seemed to just accept that touch and simply rolled on his side, staring at him fixedly.

"You say you don't want to hurt me. There's no reason to kill me. Then why did you start this?" He insisted.  
He laughed a little at that stubbornness. He had no idea where he found it in himself to care about this at all. "I started it? I tried to stop it."  
"But you drew your sword first." Tybalt sat up abruptly, making him flinch.  
"Yes, I was hoping you'd have some sense and drop the thing. A right fool to think it ever works, am I?"  
Tybalt was unimpressed by his scoffing. "So you were trying to scare me?"  
Benvolio much doubted he was that easy to scare, but he didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "Well, in my experience normal people tend to drop things when they see swords out with no need at all."

He knew the tricks so well - the words and attitude to cut down pointless risks while still seeming mature and sensible, a leader and a protector and not like the anxious cowering child he actually felt most of the time in those situations - he took a deep breath.  
"You promised if I helped you and didn't call Friar Lawrence you'd lie down and stop this nonsense."  
"I learned to hold a sword before you learned to walk." Tybalt rambled on, ignoring him completely.  
"We're the same age. Lie down."  
"You thought _that_ could scare me?"  
"It's not about scaring. Jesus Christ" he snapped "I just thought perhaps it would make it a bit more clear to you it was serious. But I'm such a fucking dreamer, apparently."

Tybalt actually seemed a little put off by the harshness of his words, though at that point that was most likely a trick of the candlelight. "There's no need to swear, scoundrel. We're in a church"  
Benvolio had a fleeting vision of himself jumping at his throat, right there in the church, and reminded himself vigorously of the fact he was mature, sensible and had come here with good intentions.  
"And I always take things seriously."  
"Really? Yesterday, the pranks and then picking this fight and getting yourself disfigured, that was serious? You don't regret it one bit?"

He actually seemed to reflect on that for a while, which Benvolio hadn't thought him to be capable of, to be honest. "Yes, I'd say so" he said in the end. "You're Montagues and you're pretty disgraceful, with all that fighting and sucking up to the future prince and dishonoring maidens."  
Benvolio fought off the mad fits of laughter that thinking of Mercutio as "the future prince" always brought, relieved he was behaving and sticking to the childish reasons that didn't sound too much like unavoidable facts of life.

"Romeo's doing that now? He's twelve."  
Tybalt frowned. "Maybe not now, but he will. You all do. You're already doing it."  
"Me?" He squinted at him, confused. "I've never hurt or dishonored anyone. And if you think I'm sucking up to Mercutio you vastly overestimate how much I can get him to listen to me."  
Tybalt smacked the wall behind him in frustration "Will you stop pretending you're so pure and better than anyone? You know who you dishonored."  
Benvolio rolled his eyes. "You're talking about that mute handmaid again?"  
Tybalt slapped his hand. "Her name's Susanna."

"I don't know how you think I was supposed to know that, but all the same, we have discussed it. No dishonoring. Lie down." He had just taken her to the stable to show her a new baby colt, she's won him his mother's silk shawl at dice and he hadn't minded it, they'd tickle-fought and kissed without a care for names or talking or expectations and it had been all perfectly lovely. Of course, the last thing he was going to do was explaining Tybalt that.  
"Well, you're still a Montague and she's a Capulet and my responsibility." He pointed out.

Benvolio strongly doubted the Capulets trusted the protection of anyone to their obviously touched in the head, fourteen year old unwanted nephew, but that was besides the point.  
"I feel like she doesn't count as Capulet. I feel like she at least should get some peace from you if your poor cousins can't."  
"She's Jule's friend and she's a Capulet for me."  
"Well, aren't you sweet." I'm sure she'd love to live in a civil war like the rich girls, he wanted to say, but for some reason sarcasm didn't come easily. That was, objectively, quite sweet and it infuriated him. "I don't think you care about her, or Romeo, at all. I think you're just mad I won't fight you and you wanted a reason to provoke me."  
"Don't you know what "my responsibility" means? I don't care if you fight me or not. You're slow and boring anyway."

Benvolio crossed his arms defensively, without the slightest idea of why that stung him.  
"No shit. I don't fight for fun. That's what Mercutio's for, if you want it so bad."  
Tybalt muttered something like "you enjoyed it well enough", curling up tightly and hugging his knees. Benvolio threw his cloak around him again, sighing, since lying down was clearly too much to ask.  
"Or maybe you're jealous no one wants to come in the stable with you." He went on. "You'll be luckier now though. Scars look dashing, if you don't tell girls you got it tormenting children."

Tybalt scowled, but looked up a little. "I got it defending my family's honor."  
Then he admitted he had been provoking him to fight on purpose! "That's what your uncle tells you so you sleep at night?"  
Tybalt's hand grasped tight at the sheet. Benvolio instinctively put his hand over his to calm him down, but he understandably shook him off. "My uncle told me I look like a disgrace escaped from the gallows."

His voice was tired and spiteful, but for a split second he could see the shadow of a proud smirk - like he didn't need anyone to tell him what was and wasn't honor, the little hero, of course - that twisted his face in a way that made his uncle's words seem realistic and reasonable. It was fairly ugly, but for some reason Benvolio flushed and had to look down a little. He should have realized what he meant before. "Why do you even want to go back to that house?" He wanted to say, all wish for banter gone, but he couldn't bring himself to.

"My uncle told me you're my first blood and now I am a grown man for real. But that's not it for you, right? You were already going around slashing people at... three or something" he said instead. He didn't know if he hoped to make him laugh or what.  
"Yes. It was about time for you, frankly. Maybe you should be grateful." Tybalt mumbled, but his heart wasn't in it anymore, though he was still perfectly capable of eyeing him with disdain.

He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. Benvolio stared at him for a few minutes, until the scowl on his face relaxed, then hesitantly touched his cheek. Tybalt didn't protest or seem to notice, so he finished wiping the blood on his face and tried to ease him down. He stiffened at his touch and opened his eyes, looking at him with an air of mortal betrayal. Benvolio choked a scream down his throat. "You really should try to sleep, you know that?"  
"I can't. You can just go away and leave me be, you know that?"

He sat on the bed and took Tybalt's face in his hands, looking sternly at him like he would do with Romeo when he got melodramatic. At that point he had an inkling maybe it wasn't the best idea, but he had gone too far to stop.  
"So what's the problem?" he went on. "You're scared of the dark? I don't think so. You have nightmares?"  
Tybalt avoided his glance.  
"Well, it's not like anyone could do anything about that even if you were home. Or does your little cousin crawl in bed with you?"

Tybalt slapped him in response. He looked at him with all the disappointment he could muster, although realistically it wasn't something Tybalt could care much about.  
"Not in that sense, you ass. Romeo used…" He stopped. In the first few days Benvolio had been at his house he would sometimes when he heard him cry and Aunt Clarissa had given up on stopping him, but both him and Tybalt were much too old for that now and he doubted the Capulets allowed such softness in their house at all.

Would it be presumptuous to say he wasn't going to leave even when Tybalt fell asleep? That was the kind of thing Romeo would say, so boldly and innocently there would be no doubt it was well meant for anyone who cared to really listen to him, or Mercutio, with a sarcastic tone and rogueish smile that left no doubt it was sincerely meant for anyone who cared to understand him. Benvolio had never been particularly bold or innocent and sure as death he wasn't good with words. He brushed Tybalt's hair back from his face and let his fingertips linger on his cheek, lost in thought. Tybalt was either too out of it to protest, too tired to fight again or starting to humor him like a madman and he honestly could not say what worried him more. "Tybalt" he mumbled, breaking the scalding hot silence "I have a knife here."

Tybalt blinked and tilted his head in confusion. "I have nine at home, just none here."  
Benvolio raised his eyebrows. "What? Why do you even have- I mean I need to use it now. I told you so you wouldn't be scared, you know, that I'm about to stab you."  
"We've been over this, you can't scare me." Tybalt insisted, very unappreciative of his concern. Benvolio sighed an "alright" and took the knife out of his belt, feeling a little stupid. He had thought of how scared he had been when he had just woken up, as if he was fully thinking he had knocked him out and dragged him to some grim corner to murder him in peace. He knew he should only give him credit if he could piece his defenses back together so fast, but it made him uneasy. He grabbed his sack from the nightstand, sat cross legged on the bed and put his pomegranate on his lap, without breaking eye contact with Tybalt.

"Listen, it's not much and I don't know if you feel like eating anything, but this is from your garden. Ripe and good. Tree under your window. You can just close your eyes and pretend… your little cousin or your auntie or your… your father, I don't know, someone who actually loves you picked it for you. It would help."  
Tybalt eyed him wordlessly as he cut the pomegranate in half and ate one seed - to prove he hadn't somehow poisoned it, just in case - likely wondering whether it was time to call for Friar Lawrence to commit him to the madhouse. Then he ran his thumb on the knife, licked the juice off his fingertip and laughed - sarcastic, yet delighted, in a way Benvolio found strangely sweet.

" You're stealing fruit from my garden to earn my forgiveness? Montague comforting is something special."  
Benvolio flushed a little, although Tybalt didn't seem truly angry. He had kind of hoped for him to overlook the logical explanation. He wasn't exactly known for being sensible. "I don't steal and I never broke into your house, for your information. Mercutio did and I didn't want to waste it."  
Tybalt took his half and sucked on a seed, smirking with pleasure. Mercutio feeding Romeo the seeds and drawing whiskers on his face with juice flashed before Benvolio's eyes, uncomfortably, but he just watched Tybalt eat and held his hands still. That was really quite stupid. "And what was Mercutio doing at my house at night?"

Benvolio cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "He worried for you. For some reason."  
"I imagine he would. Everyone one else goes easy on him because they're scared of getting in trouble." He looked down, almost coyly. "I'm surprised he didn't come here to kiss me all better."  
Benvolio stared at him intently, his eyes entranced in Tybalt's - wide, black and so pretty, now they were twinkling with mockery like half-lit coals. He blinked, then half-closed his eyes so he could still see Tybalt's smirking face through his lashes. He leaned down and kissed him so softly he could barely taste the pomegranate on his lips, without putting his arms around him or even cupping his cheek as he would if he was kissing someone less likely to recoil in horror or punch him in the face if he had misunderstood everything.

Of course, despite his best efforts, Tybalt pulled away, regret shadowing his face.  
"What… what the fuck are you doing?" His arms were crossed on his chest, defensively. He didn't remember unlacing his shirt quite that far. He still smiled encouragingly, as innocent and un-mocking as he could.  
"Who's swearing in church now?"  
"Montague."

Benvolio could not explain his way out of this, give himself any sound reasoning that didn't sound like drunken babbling, yet everything was laid out within him as simply and neatly as math lesson. He slid Tybalt's hood off with trembling hands and ruffled his hair. "What have we been saying? When we grow up, Mercutio will be a prince and we'll be killers. It makes more sense for us…"  
 _"Montague."_  
That seemed to be his objection to Benvolio's words, more than an insult or a warning, but he didn't pay much attention to it. In the darkness, _Montague_ and _Capulet_ seemed a much less meaningful difference than the other one.

"What's wrong now? I hurt you? Would you prefer Merc-"  
Tybalt kissed him. It was so rough and sudden it hurt a little when their faces met, but there was something endearingly clumsy about the way he threw his arms around his neck - shaking hands open, not quite daring to truly touch him. It had to be his first kiss. Benvolio smirked in satisfaction against his warm, chapped lips and placed a hand over Tybalt's, curling it around his own shoulder, then slid his other arm around his waist. Tybalt's other hand found its way on its own, teasing his curls like a rush of wind.

He couldn't help but close his eyes as he let Tybalt bite his lips and hesitantly stroke his cheek. He wrapped both arms around him, so he could hold him closer. He let him lead the kissing until he tired out and sunk in his arms, his head on Benvolio's shoulder. "You're going so easy on me" he complained softly in his ear. Benvolio smiled, pressing a final kiss on his forehead, then laid on his side taking Tybalt with him and fixed the blanket around them, so they were curled face to face.

"It is your first kiss and you're half dead. I thought I'd give you reason to believe I'm an honorable gentleman."  
Tybalt frowned and scooted a little closer. He lingered a while as if he wanted to kiss him again, but didn't. "You're just going to stay here then?"  
"If you'd like."  
For some reason he seemed disappointed to have to be the one to say it first. "Alright, I guess" he said in the end. "So I can hug you and pretend you're someone who actually loves me?"

Benvolio laughed and nodded. Tybalt wrapped his arms firmly around him and laid his head on the pillow. "You must pity me so much." He muttered.  
Benvolio stroked his hair. "I think anyone would pity you right now. But that's my fault, not yours."  
"I think they pity me all the time." He sniffled, but thankfully didn't start crying again. "No family, no inheritance, no knight who'd take such a mess to squire, nothing to be but a throwaway sword. I get it. But I don't… I don't want…"  
Benvolio pressed two fingers on his lips. "For what my opinion's worth, you're not a sword I would throw away."

That was stupid, and nothing Tybalt probably didn't already know, and he realized with horror it could be easily taken as a lewd joke, but he couldn't find anything more comforting to say. Kissing was easier, but an obvious easy way out too.  
"That's true." Tybalt admitted. "But I don't always have a sword to prove people wrong. I wish, but I can't always, they tell me. And I don't have one now."  
"Well, you don't need to prove me wrong." He reassured him. Why would he even think of that?

Tybalt grimaced, speaking so softly he could barely hear him. "You're sure? You don't think you're better than me?"  
He sounded very matter of fact, not angry or accusing at all. That was somehow worse. "I really only won out of dumb luck yesterday."  
"No, not in that sense."  
"What, then?" Tybalt didn't elaborate.

Benvolio held him close and sighed. If he'd asked him but a day ago, he'd have known the truthful answer, if not the one he would say out loud. He had so many excuses - yes, he had no family, no inheritance, no bright future and it seemed dishonest to say he was not a mess after the last couple days, but he controlled his anger, controlled everything ugly and unpleasant, he was sensible and mature and sweet and surely there was a reason why he had friends to hold him while he cried and Tybalt didn't - all such sweet-sounding bullshit.

"I don't anymore." He answered honestly. "I'm only better at pretending."  
Tybalt gave him a little kiss on the cheek, smiling and not pitiful looking at all, now he was calmer and warm and flushed from all the kissing. "I might like you, you know." He whispered, his voice growing drowsy. "When you're not pretending."

Benvolio didn't leave after he fell asleep.


End file.
